Growing to Understand
by PutMoneyInThyPurse
Summary: AU. A somewhat darker Dumbledore, in corporal-punishment Hogwarts, gives Severus a flogging.
1. Chapter 1

NOTE: If you like this, you need to thank excessivelyperky and an anonymous reader who goes by Appreciative, who both asked me, way back when I was doing the 'Growing' series, to write the Severus punishments I'd hinted at in those stories. Part of my self-declared Abandoned Fics On My Computer Amnesty Month. Also Leviathan, who explained to me in a PM that the Dumbledore of the Growing series is probably much darker, possibly as a result of capture and subsequent torture by Grindelwald.

Can be a standalone, but I think will have another chapter. Eventually.

* * *

"I'm very disappointed to see you here again, Severus."

The cold words dropped from Headmaster Dumbledore's thinning lips and hung, reproachful, in the sunlit air. Head bent, he turned away from Severus, leaving him standing alone in his study as his disappointed mentor went to prepare for his punishment. Severus showed no emotion, though; he never did. He kept his eyes fixed on the floor, a tiny ladybird scurrying along a crack absorbing all his attention. His mouth twisted; such a sunny creature of the light would never find its way into the depths of the Slytherin dungeons. Only here, in the windswept, sunkissed Gryffindor towers, did these lucky talismans deign to appear. _Lucky, indeed. It's just an insect_, he growled to himself, working hard to keep the fear of what came next out of his chilled veins and pounding heart. _Just a stupid ladybird_, he insisted as his eyes slid gently over the smooth, bright, red-spotted wings. How intent it was upon its purpose, oblivious to the danger that threatened. With a tiny movement of his foot he could put an end to its life…

"Over here, Severus."

He wished Dumbledore wouldn't call him by his own name at a time like this. If only he would call him anything, even 'James' – _especially_ 'James', he acknowledged. If only he would, he could pretend it wasn't him taking the punishment – that it wasn't he who was being proved bad, unworthy, with every step. That it wasn't he who was forever falling, falling further and further out of favour with his beloved mentor, the one who had smiled at him and said he'd had 'potential' that first day—before he was sorted into Slytherin.

"No dawdling, Severus."

He shuffled over to the punishment cross, a broad, heavy wooden X, fumbling awkwardly with his robes. His eyes burned. He'd wanted to be strong and firm in front of Dumbledore, perhaps, he'd desperately hoped, earning back a measure of his respect, but even that was denied him as his freezing fingers became clumsy and slow.

"Nearly causing grievous bodily harm to a student. Twelve strokes, I think, Severus, don't you?"

Each repetition of 'Severus' planted him ever more firmly in this miserable, unfair abyss, precluded the possibility of him shutting it all out, fleeing the room on the wings of his imagination. Each time he tried, another 'Severus' would bring him back to earth with a bump. Sometimes he grew heartily tired of his own name. Finally he was naked, his clothing folded neatly on the chair in the corner. Embarrassed, he stepped up to the wooden X, standing spread-eagled facing it, hoping for a measure of modesty, to manage to be quick enough to hide his front at least.

"You know better than that, Severus."

Genuinely confused, he nevertheless did not ask for clarification. Prudence meant not blurting out every stray thought that popped into your head. He tried to think, to deduce what Dumbledore thought he knew better than to do. But the one idea that tickled at the edges of his mind was too awful for him to contemplate – it had happened only once before, and then the punishment had been only two strokes with the junior cane – surely his so-called crime didn't merit…

"Back to the post, Severus."

He was genuinely chilled now as he turned to place his back against the X, his chest facing outward. And now, now Dumbledore stepped up to him, looming over him, his eyes devoid of the warmth they had when addressing his precious Gryffindors. Well, his _eye_, technically—he'd lost the other, as everyone knew, as a consequence of the terrible torture he had undergone for a month in Grindelwald's clutches. Those who had known him before it sometimes spoke of the kind, gentle man he had been before…

The voice prodded. "Don't you?"

"Yes, Headmaster. I'm sorry." Severus had wanted to remain silent, to be hard and defiant, but it was impossible. For all that he stood there naked and humiliated, for all he was about to be whipped across his chest, he somehow still craved this man's affection, forgiveness. He was the only one who had ever shown him respect, admiration… "I never wanted to disappoint you."

"And yet you have."

A little more of his soul shriveled up inside, but he managed to meet the icy blue gaze. "I never meant to."

"Then what did you mean by hexing Potter's homework to blow up in his face?"

_Potter, Potter._ He ground his teeth, shame forgotten. "He played a worse trick on me just last week, and got off scot-free."

"I thought we had established that at the time, he was nowhere near…"

"He _was!_" To Severus' horror, tears of frustration threatened to spill down his face. "I told you and told you, but you didn't believe me…"

The voice became low, menacing. "And so you decided to take matters into your own hands."

"Why not, _they_ always have before," he grumbled. "And get away with it."

The blue eye flashed, the pupil pinpointing. "Six more, I think."

Severus barely had time to gasp before the familiar _Incarcerus_. Ropes materialized and wrapped firmly against his arms and legs, immobilizing him against the wooden X. While he was used to being bound face-down, he had only had a few experiences with this position. His body was sick with fear and cold and apprehension, and he tried to quell the goose-bumps, but there was no control any more. And when Dumbledore turned, the sight of the split bamboo cane in his hand made Severus glad, in an abstract sort of way, that he'd thought to go to the toilet before coming here.

The headmaster didn't waste time. He swung the bamboo, in a great whining arc, to smash against Severus' chest.

There was no stopping the shriek of anguish, no stopping the next inexorable cut of the razor-edged cane. It was as though his lungs were on fire, the very air he breathed poison. Another wicked crack and he was howling like an animal, his head lashing from side to side, as the sharp edges sliced through him and the agony shivered through his body. Again and again the stick cracked against his bones, and he was choking and screaming—another bone-breaking whack, and he groaned gutturally like an animal, and wanted to leave his body, but there was nowhere to go…

…and his eyes met Dumbledore's. There was a glint in them he was seeing for the first time, now he was facing the headmaster. The eyes were burning with an incandescent, unnatural fire. _He's getting his revenge for the times he was tortured._ The thought sprang unbidden. But then Severus saw him raise the stick with savage glee and his soul was like a bird battering at the bars of its cage and the stick came down and suddenly everything went blank.

It was a moment—several moments—before he realized that the caning had stopped. His limbs were all water, but his soul was no longer straining urgently at the confines of his body. A voice muttered healing charms on the periphery of his consciousness, and his impending soul-flight receded a little more. Curiously, he forced his eyes open. Dumbledore was bending over him, still incanting urgently.

In spite of everything, the most delightful emotion stole over Severus as he watched the bent white head, the aged figure bending over him, wand outstretched, healing him. _He loves me, he cares for me,_ the voice in his head sang. _He does, he does, he's healing me…_

But then his logic brought him up short. How could Dumbledore be managing to heal him? Everyone knew, Severus knew, that healing charms didn't work on caning injuries until twenty-four hours had passed. But working these were, definitely. His breathing was easing, no longer feeling as if the air knifed through his bronchial tubes, slicing them open on its way in. Dumbledore was the greatest living wizard, but Dumbledore himself had said that it was impossible to bypass the charms inbuilt in the school cane. How, then…?

_It's not the school cane. _

The thought, again, had come unbidden. But Severus had barely had time to process it when Dumbledore stepped backwards, raked his eyes over him, nodded once, and liberated him, flipping him over and binding him with another charm. This was the position he was familiar with, and as though the surreal event had not just happened, as though he had not almost died, Dumbledore was speaking. "Six down, twelve to go." He laid down the bloodstained bamboo, picked up the regulation cane, and without a pause, without a word, coldly, automatically, with horrifying strength, raised the rod high over his shoulder and proceeded to methodically flay the skin off Severus' buttocks and thighs.

There was no way on earth he could have kept his trembling body from collapsing to the floor as his enchanted bonds were released. His flayed legs simply gave way, and he went down, clutching at the wooden X on his descent to the floorboards. Cheek pressed to the flagstones, he dully noticed the cheery red ladybird wending its way across the floor.

"Get up," the headmaster's voice sounded coldly above him. Slowly, by will and nerve alone, he staggered to his trembling feet, and stood there shaking, hoping as always for a smile, for some word of forgiveness. Affection, even. He should stop daring to hope, but somehow he couldn't.

His mentor's mouth opened.

"I'm very disappointed in you, Severus," he intoned. "See that it doesn't happen again."

Severus' eyes searched the old face for some trace of kindness, of sympathy, found none. "Yessir," he mumbled. His face was drenched with his tears, but he held the fresh ones back. He didn't cry. Wouldn't.

"And you will apologize to Potter."

"What?" His head snapped up, eyes flashing. Instantly, he regretted it, eyes down, hands clasped before him.

Dumbledore looked at him for a long moment. "If you had not just received chastisement, you would certainly have deserved a flogging for that insolence alone," he began. "Tomorrow after dinner I shall Truth Charm Potter to see if you have apologized. If you do not, I shall make you do it in the Great Hall at breakfast the next day. Do you understand?"

The bitterness threatened to choke him worse than the pain, but he nodded and turned to go, staring intently at the floor. The ladybird fluttered across his path, making little jumps of happiness. His vision washed into a haze of red.

Lily would have cried to see him do it. She would probably not have spoken to him for ages. Only Lily was James' girlfriend now. She wasn't here to intercede on the ladybird's behalf.

He put out his foot and crushed it, ending its happy, oblivious life. He raised his frayed shoe from the floor and saw the minute darkening of the little creature's blood, seeping into the pores of the flagstone.

It ought to have made him feel better, but he only felt crushed.


	2. 2: Oblivion

So I've decided to add two more bits to the first part. Well, they forced me to write them, really. The first is a continuation of the regular arc we know. Here it is.

* * *

It was dark as he hobbled back to the Slytherin dungeons. Nobody had better see him, he thought, his pain turning to rage. He stumbled and nearly fell down the stairs. Concentrating, he performed a _Disillusio_ and slipped through the common-room like water, noting Lucius and Narcissa snogging by the fireplace with cold detachment. Potential blackmail material, he concluded, filing it away in his brain, and slipped up the stairs like a ghost.

* * *

The morning dawned bright and miserable. Severus had been kept awake most of the night by the pain, only falling into an exhausted doze as the grey light was beginning to outline the shapes of the beds in the dormitory. He'd healed the cuts on his chest, but there was nothing to be done about the stripes inflicted by the school cane. The black robes he favoured hid the blood, though, and he was determined not to show weakness. A night of sleeping on his stomach must have done him good, right?

Or so he thought until he entered the Great Hall.

Seeing his stiff gait, the Gryffindors smiled, some even sniggering. Potter and Black didn't dare say anything to him, not with Lily sitting there staring daggers at them, but their gloating, gleeful expressions seemed to surround him even as he turned, wrapping him in malediction. God knew it wasn't anything he wasn't used to on a daily basis, but it still turned his stomach, made him hate himself, the world and everything in it…

"What's up, Severus?" said Mulciber as he approached the Slytherin table. "Bloody Gryffindor-loving headmaster give it to you again?"

He shrugged as he made to sit down. It was nice to get some sympathy. Lily Evans could go hang. "Yeah," he muttered.

"One day," Avery chimed in, "we'll get back at them all…"

Severus lowered himself onto the seat, and gasped with pain. He stood straight up again.

James Potter sniggered.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Lily speaking sharply to James, the loathsome toad holding up his hands in protest, but it was all peripheral; the agonizing pain in his skinless, flayed flesh from hip to knee-hollow demanded his full attention. He grabbed up a roll from the table and took a savage bite to stave off his hunger pangs. "See you later," he mumbled to his friends with his mouth full, and fled.

* * *

How he dearly wished he could skive off lessons for the day. Unfortunately, today was Potions, his favourite—not to mention that Slughorn would not forgive the absence of his star pupil. Before that, though, was History of Magic—two classes sitting down. He didn't relish it, but he was strong. He could take it.

Slowly, he started towards the History of Magic classroom. Each step was as though he walked on knives, and he could feel the blood running down his legs again thanks to his ill-advised attempt at sitting. Walking got harder and harder, and finally, as he approached the classroom, he found himself leaning against a wall, panting. Just as well the corridors were empty; he didn't want anyone to see him like this…

"Hey there—you all right, mate?"

A tall, redheaded boy came up from behind him. Severus groaned inwardly. Even this wish was to be denied him, it seemed. "If you take the mickey, I'm cursing you."

"What?" Looking down at him, the face seemed genuinely confused. "No, why should I? I just—you seemed to be having a spot of trouble, I wondered if you needed help…"

The boy came around from behind him. A Gryffindor, older, not in his year. He couldn't put a name to the face yet. Purest of purebloods, mocked by the Slytherins for being a Muggle aficionado, so stupid he didn't know what electricity was, hopeless at brewing, had a girlfriend with big knockers. "Seems I can't get you lot to leave me alone." It sounded lame even to his own ears. Severus straightened, meaning to stalk off, but swayed with sudden dizziness.

The boy was at his elbow in an instant, supporting him. "Steady on there, mate…Oi!" He glanced down in alarm. "You're bleeding!"

Severus sneered up at the squeamish boy contemptuously. "What, you've never been caned before?"

"Hard enough to draw _blood?" _He stared in shocked sympathy. "Golly, no!"

That was the straw that broke the camel's back. The realization that, even when they did get flogged, Gryffindors got off so lightly that the very concept of the cane drawing blood was inconceivable to them so incensed Severus that he moaned. The big lummox next to him pushed his pasty face and red hair closer to him. "Here, lean on me," he burbled. "Let's get you to the Hospital…"

Severus shoved him away so violently that he, Severus, stumbled and fell to the floor. Drat! "Get away from me!"

The Gryffindor knelt by him, still all stupid, anxious concern. "What is it? What's wrong? Where does it hurt?"

He slipped supportive hands under Severus' arms, bracing him, pulling him up. To Severus' shame, he was so weakened that he leant into the support so freely given, allowing the boy to pull him to his knees. Once upright, though, he realized what he was doing—accepting help from Potter's House. Terror swept him at the thought that the rest of the Potions class would soon be coming this way, and with them his friends, some already loyal to the Dark Lord, seeing him consorting with this—"Blood-traitor," he spat.

The boy reared back, then placed his hands on Severus again, gently. "What on earth is wrong with you?"

The tone was less offended than tolerant, chiding. Severus gritted his teeth. Like a big, affectionate dog, the idiot Gryffindor refused to take offense, couldn't understand when he wasn't wanted. The thought of dogs reminded him of Black and the werewolf, and the fierce anger gave him strength. "Get your hands off me," he said coldly. "Go back to your girlfriend—" her name came to him suddenly. "Prewett. Managed to get into her knickers yet? Heard the whole of Gryffindor Tower was getting stuck in with her…"

Painfully, stupidly predictable, Neanderthal Man from Gryffindor Tower could be guaranteed to bristle whenever his delicate womenfolk were insulted. "Shut it," the idiot snapped. "Right, I can see you don't want to be helped, but whatever somebody did to you, don't take it out on me. And leave Molly out of this." He rose to his full height—pretty impressive, the fool made up in height for what he lacked in intelligence—and strode off. Severus breathed a sigh of relief, and started the laborious task of getting back on his feet.

It was harder than he thought without anyone to help him up.

* * *

The start of the History of Magic lesson found Severus Snape standing at the rear of the classroom, in the alcove reserved for caned boys unable to be seated. The students filed in, and Severus wondered, not for the first time, why he wasn't able to just die from embarrassment. His Slytherin housemates refrained from teasing on general principle, because of the presence of the Gryffindors, although he knew a few, who resented his good marks, were secretly gloating.

There was nothing secret about the gloating of the Gryffindors.

"Ahhh, Sevvie. Hurts, does it?"

"Shouldn't have hexed Potter, snake!"

"Did he mark you nicely? Let's see, Snivellus."

That was Black, of course, walking up to him—Black by name and black by nature. Dark Arts, his foot—this boy was Darker than he'd ever be—"Let's have a look. Don't be so bashful, now." The boy's wand flicked at the hem of Severus' robes, and only Severus' grab prevented them from being lifted.

"Stop it!" Lily's voice rang out. "Sirius, stop it! James, stop him!"

"What for?" James Potter's voice was unpleasant. "Still fancy him, do you?"

"How dare you!" And with that, Lily slapped him.

Severus sniggered. That was the one thing that could have improved his day…

But Potter, in a fury, rounded on him. _"Levicorpus!"_

He tried to dodge it, but his reaction time was so depressed he couldn't even evade, let alone counter. In a flash, he was hanging upside-down in the position he detested. His robes hung down about his ears, but they weren't thick enough to muffle the roar of laughter that went up from the students as Potter flicked down his trousers with practiced ease and the roomful of students caught sight of his bleeding, flayed legs. The Slytherins, if they gloated, kept it quiet, but the Gryffindors made no secret of their glee.

"Whoa! He got it all right!"

"Ooh, does it hurt, Sevvie?"

"Teach you to show us all up at Potions!"

"Swollen Snivellus!"

The room filled with jeers and catcalls. He felt their dislike swirl and eddy around him as they yelled choice comments about his anatomy and the effect of the caning on his future sex life and virility. His face flamed, and he wished for death. It was clear, though, that for most of them, this was a capital joke at his expense. Or perhaps the expense of Slytherin House, or just of those who didn't like Potter—he couldn't tell which. But as he hung there, hearing them laughing at his pain, he vowed to have his revenge. That girl saying he wouldn't be able to 'take it up the bum' any more, he'd see to it she was screwed by a dozen Death Eaters. That rat Pettigrew with the high-pitched, wheezy laugh, he'd gut him and watch him die as he heard his screams. Potter he'd burn alive. Black—

The laughter never ceased as Lily hit Potter on the arm. _"Liberacorpus,"_ came the subdued incantation, and he landed in a heap on the floor.

"Now, now, settle down, students. You may stand, but no lying down in class, Mr Snape."

Boring as ever, Binns came into class just in time to see Lily stalking out of the classroom, James chasing her out like a lovesick puppy, and the rest of the room in an uproar as Gryffindors and Slytherins hurled insults at each other. Severus struggled to his feet, smoothing down his robes to cover himself,

The class subsided, and the taunts and insults devolved into hissing and evil glances directed at him, standing there trying to remember what Binns was saying as the rest of the class took notes about the Land Reclamation Project of 1183.

About halfway through the class, he began to note that Binns' voice was even ghostlier than ever. The man is fading before my eyes, he thought. The tedious voice droned on, and he wondered why it was beginning to buzz.

He only noticed something was amiss when the classroom began to tilt.

Oh, no! He tried to right himself, but it was too late. His ears filled with a rushing, roaring sound as the effect of standing so long took its inevitable toll. If he could just get his wand-hand to his pocket and incant _Enervate_ – he tried to move it, but his limbs weren't responding to his commands. He barely managed to break his fall by bracing himself against the wall as he slid to the floor.

* * *

The warm feeling of being in bed dissipated as he blinked his way to consciousness. It came back to him, with sick misery, where he was, what had happened. The first thing he did was try to struggle to his feet, and was unsurprised to find his feet shackled with an Impediment Jinx. He fumbled in his pocket for his wand—thank goodness he'd fallen on it, else someone might have liberated him of it—and cast a silent _Finite_ through his robes.

Listening, he was able to make out, "…and so the Project succeeded in returning various tracts of land to the Merpeople. The effort at re-flooding them we will be discussing next week." There was no way of hearing Binns' ghostly presence as it floated out, but the hubbub of raised voices indicated that the lesson was now at an end.

Cautiously, he opened his eyes.

As he did, a chant rose up. It started low, but steadily increasing in volume as more voices were added. " Snapey fainted! Snapey fainted! Snapey fainted! Snapey fainted!"

God, he hated their taunting, ugly voices. He wished them silent—"Snapey fainted! Snapey fainted!"—he wished them dead. He wished for a chunk of plaster to fall from the ceiling and crush them. He'd dance on their mangled corpses. "Snapey fainted! Snapey fainted!"

He rose to his feet, trying to ignore them. But a group of them gathered round him, dancing around him in a circle. " Snapey-Snapey fainted! Snapey-Snapey fainted!" He clamped his mouth shut. He knew, from past experience, that anything he said would be taken and twisted against him.

One of them cried in a sickeningly-sweet voice, "Oo, I'm Sevvie, I'm a girl! I'm swooning!" Raucous laughter burst out. He fantasized about grabbing those sneering lips, slicing them off, watching the mutilated mouth scream—

Eyes down, fixed resolutely on the floor, anger roaring in the top of his skull, he turned blindly to go. His hand touched a Gryffindor boy.

"OW! He hexed me!"

The boy screamed, and Severus looked up in astonishment. He'd have liked nothing better than to hex the damned fool, but he hadn't. And yet the boy was holding up his arm, and the sleeve of his robe had a smoking, hand-shaped hole where Severus had touched it.

Some of the girls screamed, and a few of the boys took a tight grip on their wands. "Right, you started it."

He could see it, frozen in slow-motion. The fight – the consequences – the return to Dumbledore's office for punishment for the second time in as many days. He had to avoid this unthinkable consequence, and while there remained anything to do to save himself, he would. And he did, hating himself, them, and life:

_"Imperio."_

He knew he was a powerful wizard, and the sight of them all, slack-jawed and gormless, hardly surprised him. He elbowed through the mob, making good his retreat. But he paused at the door. Much as he would like to order them all to gut and disembowel each other, he could hardly do so without fear of detection.

He sighed. There was only one option for a good Slytherin to take. He raised his wand.

_"Obliviate."_


	3. 3: Salvation

OK, so this is the last bit. A rewrite of the last chapter, and a bit more added on. I'm a sucker for redemption. Well, for a happy ending. And yes, I'm aware that I'm taking liberties with the timeline, and that I'm more of a Weasley fan than one woman should be. *shrug* Thanks for your comments. They mean a lot.

* * *

The start of the History of Magic lesson found Severus Snape standing at the rear of the classroom, in the alcove reserved for caned boys unable to be seated. The students filed in, and Severus wondered, not for the first time, why he wasn't able to just die from embarrassment. His Slytherin housemates refrained from teasing on general principle, because of the presence of the Gryffindors, although he knew a few, who resented his good marks, were secretly gloating.

There was nothing secret about the gloating of the Gryffindors.

"Ahhh, Sevvie. Hurts, does it?"

"Shouldn't have hexed Potter, snake!"

"Did he mark you nicely? Let's see, Snivellus."

That was Black, of course, walking up to him—Black by name and black by nature. Dark Arts, his foot—this boy was Darker than he'd ever be—"Let's have a look. Don't be so bashful, now." The boy's wand flicked at the hem of Severus' robes, and only Severus' grab prevented them from being lifted.

"Stop it!" Lily's voice rang out. "Sirius, stop it! James, stop him!"

"What for?" James Potter's voice was unpleasant. "Still fancy him, do you?"

"How dare you!" And with that, Lily slapped him.

Severus sniggered. That was the one thing that could have improved his day…

But Potter, in a fury, rounded on him. _"Levicorpus!"_

He tried to dodge it, but his reaction time was so depressed he couldn't even evade, let alone counter. In a flash, he was hanging upside-down in the position he detested. His robes hung down about his ears, but they weren't thick enough to muffle the roar of laughter that went up from the students as Potter flicked down his trousers with practiced ease and the roomful of students caught sight of his bleeding, flayed legs.

"What the bloody hell's going on here? _Liberacorpus!"_

Severus found himself in a heap on the floor. As he tried to clear the blood rushing in his ears, he was vaguely aware of raised voices, joined by more voices, crescendoing into a full-out row.

"He's a Slytherin!"

"He's a human being, young Potter!"

"Oh, Molly, thank goodness. I've been trying to…"

"Why don't you blood-traitor Gryffindors stop sticking your noses where they aren't wanted? Nobody asked you to shove your oar in…"

"Oi, watch who you're calling a blood-traitor! We're related!"

"Knew you Gryffindors would stick together!"

"Since when do you care about Slytherins?"

"Since you lot started acting like animals! For heaven's sake, what's got into you?"

"Our House can take care of itself!"

"Right, because you lot were being sweetness and light, weren't you?"

Shouting filled the room as Gryffindor and Slytherin voices rose, the row quickly degenerating into which House was better. Relieved, but mainly resentful and not a little curious, he scrabbled to his feet, trying to rise with what he hoped was a little dignity left. Only his trembling legs gave way—he hoped the muscle wasn't damaged—and he collapsed back onto the floor again. At least this newest humiliation was going unnoticed in the uproar…

A hand appeared under his arm, and he looked up gratefully, expecting to find Nott or Avery. He was already leaning on the support before he realized it was the redheaded idiot from earlier. So it had been him coming to his defense? Well, Severus Snape didn't need any Gryffindor crocodile tears, thank you very much. He shook his arm free roughly. "Gerroff."

In retrospect, this was probably a bad move, since the ensuing dizziness landed him back on the floor again. Another hand appeared under his left arm, accompanied by a new voice."Now, now, that's not very nice, is it? We're just trying to help."

His head twisted wildly to the other side. It was the girlfriend with the big knockers, what was her name? Prewett. Half her family was in the Order – pureblood, but a Muggle-lover if there ever was one. He endeavoured to look superior. "Don't talk to me like a kid."

"Yeah," said the Gryffindor, rolling his eyes, "because you're _so_ grown up."

"What are you doing in here, anyway?" He frowned. "This isn't your year."

"Bringing Binns some scrolls." It was the boy's turn to frown. "Just as well we did drop in—shouldn't leave you to the tender mercies of your classmates." Looking around him with distaste, he held out a hand and hoisted Severus to his feet, tightening his grip when he winced at the motion. "Don't see 'em running to help you." He looked down at the blood starting to run down the dark-robed legs again. "No wonder you couldn't sit down, poor chap."

"Do you need a healing charm?"

Severus fixed the silly girl with a glare. "Aside from the fact that I was performing healing charms when you were still in nappies," he said stiffly, "healing charms don't work on caning injuries before 24 hours."

"Now, now, students, settle down." Binns floated in, imparting an atmosphere of tedium by his mere entrance. As the students settled down and went to their desks, Arthur and Molly turned to give the professor the scrolls and go. The boy, though, turned back to Severus.

"You going to be all right?"

"Get out."

The funny thing was that the Gryffindor seemed to be _humouring_ him. He might not be much of a threatening figure now, he supposed, but still… "Touchy, touchy," Arthur said, amusedly, and went.

But his girlfriend stayed, and took Lily aside. She whispered to her, and then turned to some of the Gryffindor girls. They nodded, grudgingly it seemed. He wondered whether they were devising some new torment to use on him, but it seemed unlikely, for reasons he wasn't quite sure of himself. Still, they were Gryffindors, weren't they? Stood to reason they'd be ganging up on him...

But the redheaded boy looked back at him, and there was nothing but sympathy in his gaze.

* * *

The warm feeling of being in bed dissipated as he blinked his way to consciousness. But reality came rushing back—he must have fainted in the middle of the History class. Before he tried to get up, he checked himself as was his wont, and, surprise of surprises, no jinxes or hexes had been cast on him while he was unconscious.

"Huh." He fumbled in his pocket for his wand, and there it was—no-one seemed to have taken it this time. Suspicious, he felt along its length to make sure it really was his. It was. Wonders, it seemed, would never cease.

The students were gathering their things, leaving the classroom without a backward glance. Now this was really unusual; normally they'd be all over him like flies on a carcass. Seemed his prayers to be left alone had finally been answered…

…but no, he thought as he watched the Gryffindor girls chivvy the boys out of the room. Seemed Prewett had convinced them to apply a touch of the Lysistrata. His mouth twisted. He didn't need the root of all evil defending him, thank you very much!

There wasn't much he could do about it, though; the objects of his anger were long gone. Resignedly, he picked himself up and set off for the rest of his day.

* * *

It was dark as he headed back to his dormitory straight after lessons. Not much point trying to sit down at supper. He hadn't even tried at lunch, hiding out in various dark corners around the school where, luckily, no-one had spotted im, and he had been left alone. Compared to the bliss of being ignored, what was a day without food in the greater scheme of things?

"Severus!"

He spun, wand out, then groaned. Should have known. The only reason he stayed still was that it would have been undignified to bolt as his two would-be Gryffindor guardian angels caught up with him. "You were caned at eight, weren't you?" the boy bleated, and went on, not waiting for an answer. "It's five past. You should be able to use a healing charm now."

Severus fixed him with his coldest glare, wand steady. "Thank you for the information."

"Need a hand up to the Hospital Wing?" The boy's hands were raised in a non-threatening pose.

He rounded on the officious idiot. "Why don't you push off, go and consort with the rest of your Order, blood-tr…" A spell of dizziness overcame him, making him sound weaker than he liked. He could have groaned with frustration as he had to break off and clutch his pounding head. At least neither of them made to touch him; he'd have cursed them for sure.

"Because we're worried about you." The motherly tone coming from a Gryffindor cow irritated him. His own mother hadn't used that tone with him, what made her think he'd accept it from an immature chit, and a Muggle-lover at that?

Without a word, he turned and stalked off. Made to stalk off anyway, because he swayed, and that damnable, helpful voice called, "Hospital wing's that way." He pointed helpfully in the direction opposite to the one Severus was taking.

Severus stiffened and faltered in his step.

"Not going there, are you?" said the same chipper tone he was growing to loathe. "Fair enough. Lots of us don't like to be there any more than we need to. Need some help with the healing charms then?"

Severus looked at him coldly. If he didn't know better, he'd swear the boy was being sincere, that it wasn't a trick…"I don't need Gryffindors helping me to reach my own back, thank you very much."

Arthur looked put out. Good. "Well, if that's the way you feel about it…"

The busty girl gasped. "You can't reach to heal properly, can you?"

"There are potions for that." His voice, he hoped, was sufficiently glacial.

"Look, Molls, if we're embarrassing him…"

"I am not embarrassed," Severus snapped, wondering briefly why he wasn't hexing them where they stood.

"We don't embarrass you?"

"I could never be embarrassed by a Gryffindor," Severus sneered in his most cutting tone.

"Righty-ho," the Gryffindor said cheerfully, "then I'm sure you won't mind if Molly here leaves us alone for a bit and I check that you're all right."

His mouth dropped open at the elegantly sprung trap. A trap that he, a Slytherin, had fallen into. He almost felt like letting this boy heal him.

Almost.

In an instant, he had his wand out. "Not embarrassed doesn't mean I want to show myself to the likes of you."

The redhead had his own wand out now, gripping it loosely, but well. His silly girlfriend, holding her wand so incompetently he dismissed her as a threat, said, "Oh, come on. Arthur's really good at healing charms…"

"Really?" His eyes raked her up and down. "What's he heal? Your hymen?"

She gasped and folded her arms, wand forgotten. "How dare you!"

The Gryffindor glared at him and turned away. Right, Severus relaxed, problem solved. You could always count on the stupidity of Gryffin…

_"Petrificus Partialus!"_

_The girl, the **girl**!_ He ground his teeth. Her wand had come up too fast for the eye to follow, faster than he'd ever have thought for such a fat cow. In spite of himself, he had to respect the way she'd made him underestimate her. He'd never thought of her as a threat…

"See you in a bit, Arthur." And instead of staying to gloat, she walked off. Probably off to get some of her Gryffindor friends to poke fun at the helpless half-blood.

He gritted his teeth. There was no humiliation that he couldn't take, at least not until he left Hogwarts. He'd get through it; he always did. "What are you going to do to me?"

Arthur was already fussing with his robes. "Heal you."

"What?"

"Give you a chance to complain how bad Gryffindors are at healing later," he said in that cheerful, tolerant tone. The tone slipped a notch, though, as he saw Severus' legs. "Flamin' hell…"

"Thought you'd be pleased we got our just desserts."

"Don't give me that," Arthur said, subdued. "Look, mate, you don't have to, but tell me. Who _really_ did this to you?"

In exasperation, he blurted, "Dumbledore!" in a tone that brooked no argument, and instantly regretted it. What had possessed him to say that? He should have said "that's for me to know and you to find out," or anything, not give away his secrets like that!

"Dumbledore? Oh come…" Before Severus could rejoice in his skepticism, the voice trailed off. "He did, didn't he?"

Severus fell silent. If the boy was stupid enough to repeat his questions…

"It really is true, isn't it?" Arthur whispered, and there was shock in his eyes. "I never believed it before…"

"What?"

"That he's got it in for Slytherins."

"Oh no, really?" Severus sneered, waspishly. "I'd never noticed. Perhaps the way he canes you lot like a feather duster might be a clue."

The way the gentle eyes looked at him, filled with nothing but compassion, unnerved him, unsettled him. "Yeah."

"Look, you'll never understand. You don't know what it's like. You're never going to change things. It doesn't work that way." Severus glared. "So why don't you naff off before someone comes along and makes my life even more of a living hell than it al…"

He clamped his jaw shut, muscles spasming from the violence of it. The other boy's mouth opened, but instead of the expected taunts, what came out was a matter-of-fact statement, "Oh, don't worry about anyone coming by here," as though the part about life being hell hadn't come out at all. He'd heard it, though; Severus could see it in his eyes, and the sympathy there made him shiver, why he knew not. Before he could be transported to another place, another time, the only other pair of eyes that had looked at him like that, Arthur continued. "Molly sealed off the corridor at both ends."

Severus stared at him, alarmed, but Arthur continued. "It's all right," he said airily. "She used a modified Confundus/Obliviate to make everyone remember something they'd forgotten, and double back." He smiled in pride at his girlfriend's prowess, the way Severus had once been proud of Lily at Potions. "Bright, isn't she?"

_Pretty bloody lightning fast on the draw too; make a good dueler, _Severus admitted grudgingly, but he kept it back. He wasn't so far gone that he'd admit something like that in front of a Gryffindor.

What was disconcerting was that the other boy seemed to read his approval, and smiled as though Severus had just voiced the unspoken compliment. "Brill. Righto, then, let's get you fixed up…" he raised his wand.

And Severus was… lifted_._

His body, his mind, seemed to ripple and liquefy, borne on the wave of a healing spell so strong it blanked out all thought. He was a will o' the wisp in the wind, a scent on a summer morning, a breath of air stirred by a butterfly-wing. It was springtime, it was sunlight, the bitterness of life was gone and there was only sweetness, so poignant and stinging it forced tears from his eyes. There was smiling, there was laughter, there was an emotion so strong it twisted and tore at his insides with the sweetness of it—there were her eyes, her eyes that had left him, only in this honeyed, blossom-scented spiral it didn't seem to matter. All that mattered was that he had once seen them, known them, cared for another, once been a lover, been another person, healing, nurturing, caring… a person he could be once more…

Someone was giving him of himself, and it was hard to understand. Like a blood transfusion, only this was life and—and hope.

"Finite Incantatem. Bloody _hell!"_

He'd closed his eyes, he noted. Now he opened them to find himself being held. He was cradled in the long arms of the other boy, who was kneeling awkwardly on the floor, blithering worriedly. "You all right, mate? Eh? What just happened?"

"Is everything all right? Do you need anything?" Molly's voice came from the end of the corridor. "Are you decent?"

"Never been, me girl," Arthur shot back, and Severus barked a laugh. Later, he would learn that it was an old joke, but it was new to him. "Hold on, though." In his muzzy daze, Severus felt hands gently pull his robes down until he was decently covered. "Right, everyone's modesty's safe, such as it is. Come on."

The girl approached, and let out a squeal. _"Arthur!_ What have you been _doing_ to him?!"

"Nothing, I swear!" He held up his hands. "He just collapsed when I used the healing spell, I, I didn't—" He looked at Severus in a panic. "Severus, tell her I didn't hurt you, she'll give me hell!"

Severus looked from one to the other, the redheaded girl's eyes blazing, angry with her boyfriend because she thought he had hurt him, a Slytherin, and the other Gryffindor redhead asking him for help, as a fellow-male—for protection from her wrathful ire on Snape's behalf.

He opened his mouth, the supportive arms lifting him slightly, patting him on the shoulder.

And laughed.

"What are you laughing at, Snivellus?"

The familiar sick feeling thudded back into the pit of his stomach as he heard the hated voices. If he'd thought, for one moment, that things could be better… He scrabbled in Arthur's arms and fumbled for his wand, even as Molly looked around, bleating about letting the wards down. Only to be expected, really. Good things never happened to him.

Now Black was joining the fray. "Careful, Arthur. Best get away from him. You don't know what he's done. He could hex you at any moment."

"I can decide for myself who to be careful of, thanks very much anyway, young Black," said Arthur, and Severus blinked at the steel in the easygoing boy's tone.

"Yes, why don't you lot leave him alone for a change?" Molly exclaimed hotly. "Can't you see he's hurt?"

"Calm down, Prewett," said Pettigrew. "Just got a bit of what he deserved, didn't he?"

"Shut up!" the girl shouted.

"Sod it, did you even look at him? Nobody deserves that!" She was joined by Arthur's strong voice, and it was joined by the wiry arms tightening protectively around him.

He looked from one to the other. He'd never had anyone defending him before like that. Yes, he had—Lily—but he'd pushed her away. The thought of Lily made him blink…

…and when he looked up, all four Gryffindors had their wands out and pointed at each other. Black and Potter against Weasley and Prewett. Gryffindor against Gryffindor. For _him._

Stunned, he broke the standoff by pulling his wand from the folds of his robes, and leveling it calmly in the same direction as Molly's and Arthur's.

Incredibly, the bullies backed down, stowing their wands, retreating. "I don't know what you've done to Arthur and Molly, Snivellus, but you can bet we'll get you back for it!"

"He's done nothing to us!" yelled the girl.

"Yeah, he's a friend of ours, so just pack it in, James!" Arthur finished as his enemies rounded the corner, footsteps receding, then dying out.

He was still stunned when the girl laid a hand on his wrist, sending his body thrumming again with the same weird energy of her boyfriend's healing spell. He opened his mouth to tell her she would be a good Healer, but what came out of his mouth was a forlorn, "I killed a ladybird yesterday."

Arthur snorted. "So? I killed a cockroach just this morning."

"No," Severus said in a small voice, "I mean I killed it on purpose."

"Well, so did I. Absolutely infested, Gryffindor Tower is. If you ask me, it needs a good fumig—Ow, Molly! What was that for?"

"I'll explain later, Arthur," she said. Turning to Severus and gentling her tone, she said, "Never mind, dear. You won't do it again, will you?"

He shook his head mutely.

"I thought not." She smiled. "You're just upset and in pain from all that." Her hand gestured vaguely behind her.

Arthur stood him up. "All right now?"

"Do you need anything? Need us to walk you to the Slyth…"

"Ah, don't fuss, Molls," the Gryffindor boy said with a grin. "He doesn't need a babysitter. If he hadn't been hurt you'd've seen him take down young James and his lot with his wand-hand tied behind his back!" He winked at Severus. "Right, mate?"

Probably Nott or Avery could resist that infectious, conspiratorial wink, but Severus wasn't strong enough. Not with whatever-it-was still flowing through his veins. He didn't speak, but he did nod, and couldn't help his mouth quirking upward in a half-smile.

The beaming smile that lit up the older Gryffindor's face was like winning the lottery. "Brilliant. See you around, Severus." He gave Severus a comradely pat on the shoulder and hustled his girlfriend off, still wittering on about walking him back to the dungeons.

* * *

He was still floating on the absence of pain, his head singing, when he gave the password to enter the Slytherin common room. Endorphin high, he thought ruthlessly. Doesn't mean anything. In time, he would get himself to believe it.

"Snape!"

Avery called him over to where Malfoy was holding court, Nott, Avery and Mulciber gathered around him excitedly.

He approached warily. These boys were his friends, but trust was never a given. He schooled his features into a bland, interested expression, prepared to wait for whatever information had them all in a tizzy. But Nott was too eager to share the news to wait. "Snape, it's what we've been waiting for. The Dark Lord is going to strike against the Order after midnight tonight."

Snape nodded impassively. Weakness, in his view, was bouncing up and down like these friends of his.

"The entire Order is going to be at the Prewetts'! They're going to wait till everyone's assembled, then mount the attack. They'll even have the younger members there, a bunch of Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers, not to mention the whole blood-traitor family. We got the news from…"

Severus allowed his face to light up, and listened attentively. He did not start. He did not confirm, "Did you say the Prewetts?" He did not press for a repetition of the details of time and place and method that Nott was so freely giving him. He listened, and nodded, and smiled, and chuckled in glee occasionally.

And when he felt he could, he Confunded his housemates silently and slipped out of the Common Room.

"It is our choices, more than our abilities, that make us what we are," said Dumbledore, whose false love was fading from his heart. And he had always felt that the choices the Gryffindors made – to plague and torment – were on their own heads. But thinking today of the motherly, fat redhead with the big knockers and her tall, gangly redheaded boyfriend, he knew now, as he hurried up to Gryffindor Tower, that he had just made a few choices of his own.


End file.
